Bill is touchy. That's it.

A/N: Hope this makes sense, sorry in advance.

Human!Bill

Bill was touchy. Dipper, on the other hand, was very much not.

It wasn't that he didn't like it - the touching - but it was unnatural for him. Dipper had never initiated anything more than a handshake with anyone except his parents. Even then, their hugs were brief and almost always reserved for special occasions.

Bill, on the other hand, had always been touchy. Ever since they'd met, nearly seven years ago when the loud and lively blonde waltzed into Dipper's fifth grade classroom with his hair unkempt and his backpack straps askew, Bill had always been the one to initiate touching. Dipper could remember it clearly: the blonde ignoring Dipper's shy wave hello and instead nearly shaking Dipper's shoulder from it's socket with an enthusiastic handshake. Dipper thought him odd when they met, and far too loud, but Bill drew attention away from the brunette which he was always fine with.

Being unknown suited him just fine.

Their relationship was symbiotic it seemed; mutually advantageous for them both even if Dipper had to put up with the noise and a little more touching that he wanted. Bill, it seemed, was happy to pull Dipper along by the shirtsleeve and for the brunette to sit in near silence while he rambled on and on about nothing at all.

It was effortless. Dipper didn't need to make an effort. Bill was content to do the work of dragging Dipper out from his shell, then later see him gently back inside of it.

As they grew, the touching bothered Dipper less and less. At first Dipper had resisted it, but it became clear to him that that was just how Bill was: touchy.

The little two-fingered jabs to his sides after a bad joke, sweaty palms wrapping around his wrist to pull him across the parking lot towards the buses after the bell were just a normal occurrence. Just small things he hadn't paid much mind to. It wasn't like it was new. Not like it meant anything

Until, of course, Bill's fingertips began to linger on his forearm for longer than they had before and his fingers were ruffling through Dipper's hair seemingly for purposes other than to attempt to tame his uncontrollable curls. More often than not Bill had begun sitting closer than he needed to at lunch time, their thighs side by side or shoulders bumping against each other.

Dipper's hands. Dipper's knees. His shoulders. His elbows. His hair. His neck. It seemed that Bill was always touching him in one way or another; yet Dipper, who had never liked being touched before, found that he did not mind it as much as he thought he would.

"But isn't it strange?" Dipper would think. "Has it always been like this? This isn't new, right?" However, suddenly finding Bill's head falling sideways against his shoulder was an entirely new experience.

They were at Dipper's house not entirely watching a movie. Each teen with a blanket strewn lazily across their legs and bowls of popcorn placed in their laps. Initially, the soft bump of Bill's temple against Dipper's shoulder was interpreted as Bill simply flopping sideways in an effort to boot Dipper from the couch and into the armchair so that the blonde could monopolize the cushions.

But Bill was not pushing him. He was hardly putting any weight on Dipper's shoulder at all.

"You... okay?" Dipper inquired, turning his head slightly.

Bill tilted his head back to answer. "Hm? Oh!" He straightened, lifting his head off of the brunette's shoulder. He scooted away, his face flushing. "Sorry I was... distracted."

"You're fine. I was just..." Dipper swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Surely," he thought, "surely that was just him. That wasn't new." It was rare for Bill to be as quiet as he was in this moment. The brunette cleared his throat, the silence quickly becoming uncomfortable.

Bill pursed his lips and stood up quickly. His arms stretched upwards, taking the hem of his sweatshirt up with them. Dipper felt a strange flutter at the action that he did not understand. After all, what about that should make him feel anything?

"I should go home, huh?" The blonde muttered quickly.

Suddenly Dipper's hand was fisted in the sleeve of Bill's sweatshirt, though he could not remember how exactly that had happened. "Wait!" Was that his voice? Had he ever been so loud before? "Do you... have to?"

Bill's eyes fell slowly to the hand that had found purchase in his clothes. "If you want me to stay, then I'll stay."

"Like asking for permission," Dipper thought. His head felt foggy, but why he did not know. The tight feeling growing in his chest was too hard to ignore. Whether that feeling was confidence or fear, Dipper did not know. "I don't ever want you to leave."

But that isn't what he had said.

In fact, he had said nothing at all.

Instead he tugged against Bill's shirt until the blonde was falling against him onto the couch. Blonde curls spilled across Dipper's shoulder as one arm wound its way around Bill's waist. The finger's of his other hand came to rest on the nape of the other man's neck, fingertips ghosting across the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Please stay," Dipper mumbled against the shell of Bill's ear.

The silence was deafening. Uncomfortable. Entirely unnatural. Especially for the blonde who had hardly gone a moment in Dipper's presence without speaking.

But the touch?

The touch was like fire against Bill's skin.

Bill braced his hands against the cushions and pushed up to meet Dipper's eyes. Dipper's hands still resting against him. "You've never... done that before."

"But that's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Dipper felt like he was shrinking into himself. Did he miscalculate? Was he mistaken? "Is it... okay?" His voice cracked, all manufactured confidence now gone leaving a slowly flickering flame sputtering in its place.

Bill swallowed hard and his breathing was shallow and slow. He slowly lowered himself back into Dipper's embrace. "I thought you didn't like touching?" He asked softly, his hot breath causing goosebumps against Dipper's neck.

The brunette licked his chapped lips. "I don't." He paused. He had never said what he thought, not like this. But this time? This time the tightness in his chest outweighed his desire to remain unknown.

"But you do."